Violet Quotes by Thomas Buchanan Read, Derek Jarman, William Wordsworth, Constance Spry, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Lucy Maud Montgomery and many others.
If only Uncle Monty knew
what we know,” Violet said
, “and Stephano knew that he
knew what we know. But Uncle Monty doesn’t know what we know, and Stephano knows
that he doesn’t know what we know.” “I know,” Klause said. “I know you know,” Violet said
I think the King is but a man
as I am: the violet smells
to him as it doth
She bathed with roses red,
And violets blew
And all the sweetest
That in the forrest grew
pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows
, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married
men; for thus sings
he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo; O, word of fear
, Unpleasing to a married ear.
Violets are God’s apology
And shade the violets, That they may bind
in leafy nets
The learned compute that seven hundred and seven millions of millions of vibrations have penetrated the eye before the eye can distinguish the tints of a violet. What philosophy
the vibrations of the heart before it can distinguish the colours
The grape Hyacinth is the favorite
spring flower of my garden – but no! I though
ago the Scilla was! and what place has the Violet? the Flower de Luce? I cannot decide
, but this I know – it is some blue flower.
Light can be gentle
, dreamlike, bare, living, dead, misty
, violet, springlike, falling
Death is woven
in with the violets,вЂќ said Louis
. вЂњDeath and again death
The nightingale appear
‘d the first, And as her melody
, The apple
into blossom burst
, To life the grass and violets sprang.
Violet! sweet violet! Thine
eyes are full of tears
; Are they wet
Even yet With the thought of other years?
Deep violets, you liken to The kindest
eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal
Violet Chachki – I’m a huge fan
of her work.
In a corner
of the churchyard grew a plantation
of white violets, enormously plump and prosperous-looking. … I saw the dead stretched out under me in the earth
these flowers with a thin milk drawn
from their bones
Oh, I love red. I’m very loyal
to my colors. I love violet.
The aquilegia sprinkled on the rocks
rain; the yellow violet
in the chariot
of its leaves, the phlox
spikes of purple flame
in meadows wet,
And all the streams
with vernal-scented reed
Were fringed, and streaky bellow of miskodeed.
Oh! that we two were Maying
Down the stream
of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with violets playing
In the shade of the whispering trees
What if life could be this way? Only the happy parts
of the terrible
, not even the mildly unpleasant
. What if we could just cut
out the bad
the good? This is what I want to do with Violet – give
her only the good, keep away the bad, so that good is all we ever have around us.
Again the violet of our early days Drinks
beauteous azure from the golden sun, And kindles
into fragrance at his blaze.
Next to my mom
, I’m actually a shrinking violet.
Who in the rainbow can draw
where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins
At the end
of the day, I’m Violet’s mom, and I want the best for her.
If we were to imagine
an orange on the blue side or green on the red side or violet on the yellow side, it would give us the same
impression as a north
from the southwest
Blue is for cruel bargains
; green is for daring
what you oughtnвЂ™t; violet is for brute force
. I will say to you: Coral
coaxes; pink insists; red compels. I will say to you: You are dear
to me as attar of roses. Please
do not get eaten
Winter is on my head, but eternal
spring is in my heart
; I breathe at this hour the fragrance of the lilacs, the violets, and the roses, as at twenty years ago
Violet, the Dowager Countess: вЂI have plenty
I donвЂ™t like.
would I give the blood-stained laurel for the first violet which March brings
us, the fragrant pledge
of the new-fledged year.
The violets prattle and titter, And gaze on the stars high above.
Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference
of the colors, but where exactly does
the one first blendingly enter
into the other? So with sanity and insanity
again! It had a dying
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank
odour! Enough; no more:
‘Tis not so sweet as it was before.
How do you do?” said Violet. “How do you do?” said Klaus. “Odo yow!” said Sunny
I am no shrinking violet.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn
, and violets bathe in the wet o’ the morn.
I’m confident that I’m as intelligent
people, but I know that I’m not as intelligent as some. So in the presence
of hyperintelligent people, I’m a shrinking violet because I don’t want to look like a fool
. I know a little about a lot
and a lot about a little.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
How cunningly nature hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses and violets and morning dew
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
of this poem
you probably are too.
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If it weren’t for Christmas
We’d all be Jewish
We are violets blue, For our sweetness found Careless
in the mossy shades, Looking on the ground. Love’s dropp’d eyelids and a kiss,– Such our breath
and blueness is.
, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen
Within thy airy shell
, By slow
Meander’s margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale.
The tender violet bent
To elves that sported nigh, Tossing the drops of fragrant dew To scent the evening sky